The Lives Of The Wicked
by Erica Lovett
Summary: An extremely saddistic fanfic with no real plot line yet. The following chapters will get very, very saddistic. Sweeney decided it would be amusing to torture Mrs Lovett. Don't get any ideas. And no, I don't own Sweeney Todd. If I did...
1. Chapter 1

"Mrs Lovett, you're a bloody wonder, imminently practical and yet appropriate as always, as you've said repeatedly there's little point in dwelling on the past!" He was backing her into the wall, a mad glint in his eyes.

"Do you mean it? Ev'rything I said, I swear, I thought it was only for the best. Believe me!" As her back hit the wall, she realised there was nowhere left to run to. Pleading was her only option.

"Now, come here, my love. Not a thing to fear, my love!" But there was.

Nothing to fear? He broke his word already, as he took hold of her hair and dragged her across the room. Mild pain shot through her body.

"Mistah T! What- are- you- doing?" She gasped, as he tightened his hold on her, before pushing her to floor by his feet. She immediately lept up, trying to excape, refusing to contemplate the consequenses if she were to fail. She thought she had loved him, even that time he had threatened her with his razors, she had passed over it, telling herself that he wouldn't hurt her. He needed her, even if he refused to admit it. She realised now that it was a foolish crush, one a teenage girl might have. Any positive emotion she had for Sweeney was now gone, except for a small hope that maybe he wouldn't kill her.

What he had in mind was much worse. He grabbed her shoulder to prevent her escape, digging his nails into her, making her cry out in a mix of pain and fear. It wasn't even that he hated her- he didn't. It was merely amusing to hurt her. Every little pain he forced her through, every drop of blood, every gasp, tear or scream she uttered as a result of his... activities made him happy- exited. He didn't feel much emotion- this was all he had left. Why Mrs Lovett? He had an excuse for her. She had indirectly killed his wife- not that he cared about his Lucy, the pathetic woman. Yet still there was more important reasons for Mrs Lovett. She was always within reach, as his landlady and accomplice. She may be strong enough to climb stairs all day, working on little sleep and through hunger, but she was still weak. He could easily overpower her; he wouldn't want to attack someone who could fight back and possibly injure him. It's just far more entertaining to hurt a weak, defensless woman. Why not give in to saddistic wants? The next reason for hurting Mrs lovett is that she needs taught a lesson. Always talking- about God-knows-what, interfering with everything, acting like she knows it all, never leaving him alone. She's so bloody stubborn, too. Refuses to cry when upset, to scream when scared, or in pain, or to gasp when surprised. He wanted to make her try all of these; to prove that he could, indeed, own her and have his way with her. Above all, he wanted to prove that he could. And that he would.

He forced her to her need, his nails digging deeper into her shoulder, deep enough to draw blood. She refused to cry, though. Surely he would stop, soon, after... after whatever he would do to her? He slapped her across the face with his free hand. She put her hand to her smarting, hot face. the pain of his slap lingered for a few moments. He pushed her over, and began to kick her torso repeatedly, watching with satisfaction as she curled up, her hands over her face, trying helplessly to protect herself. He soon grew tired of this form of punishment, however, and so proceeded to hold her hair from behind her, a razor directly at her neck. "Mrs Lovett." No answer. "Mrs-" he yanked on her hair slightly. "Lovett! Answer me, woman!"

She closed her eyes when she heard her name, feeling the cold razor against her skin, expecting to die. When Sweeney yanked on her hair- again- however, her eyes flew open. "Yes, Mistah Todd?"

"Do you know why I'm hurting you?"

" 'Cause... 'Cause I lied to you?"

"I didn't ask why I'm hurting you, I asked if you know why I'm hurting you! I'll ask again: do you?"

"I don't know!" -At this, he removed the razor from her throat, and, before she even had time to breathe, dragged her to her feet and pushed her- hard- against the wall.

"Then you will have to figure it out!" Even though she never will- at least, not without his help.

"Stay there." He walked to the side of the room where Mrs Lovett kept the clothes of his previous victims- ah, customers.

After hitting the wall, Mrs Lovett fell to the ground. Her head was starting to ache, and she wasn't sure just how far he would go with her. If he was going to kill her, surely he would have done so already. She got shakily to her feet, noticing the door wasn't too far. She tried to run for it- but the door was locked, and she- she gave Mr Todd the key, before, when they were looking for Toby. So much was her desperation to escape that she didn't even notice Mr Todd stalking towards her, quickly, untill he grabbed her left wrist and right shoulder, dragging her back, before forcing her to the ground.

He unlaced her corset that covered her outfit quickly, so he could get at her back properly. Mrs Lovett began to struggle more against him, obviously thinking that he was planning something less than innocent. He wasn't- at least, not what she was thinking of, anyway. His thoughts were revolving more around torturing her, not raping her. He would never- what kind of man would?


	2. Chapter 2

He unlaced the corset that covered her outfit quickly, so he could get at her back properly. Mrs Lovett began to struggle more against him, obviously thinking that he was planning something less than innocent. He wasn't- at least, not what she was thinking of, anyway. His thoughts were revolving more around torturing her, not raping her. He would never- what kind of man would?

He raised the dead man's belt, bringing it down, hard, on her back, taking pleasure at hearing her gasp of paon. Again, and again he hit her, a new shot of pain running throughout her body continously. He began to hit her harder, getting carried away, encouraged y each heart-rendering gasp that failed to render his heart. She cried out as the hard metal buckle hit her stinging back, repeatedly, for what seemed like hours. Eventually this beating ended, and, thinking it was over, Mrs Lovett began to slowly get up, till Sweeney placed his knee on her smarting back, a smile tugging at his lips as she gasped yet again. He took one of his razors out of its holder, and pinned down her left arm, after twisting it round painfully so he could see her forearm. He began to cut, deep enough to leave scars, into her arm, laughing at her futile struggles and screams as he spelled out his name in her own blood, on her own arm. "S-" a scream. "W-" another. "E-" he twisted her arm a little more painfully, purely for the satisfaction of hearing her wretched screams. "E-" he cut just a little deeper, now, watching the blood trickle from her arm. "N-" he pressed his knee harder into her back, causing her to scream more and struggle harder, out of yet more pain from the pressure on her back, which was already far more painful than need be. "E-" still refusing to give up the struggle, trying (and failing) desperately not to scream. "Y-" at this, Mrs Lovett finally gave up, in the hope that if she behaves, he'll stop hurting her. He doesn't. "T-" pain shoots through her body like a bullet as she begins crying, wishing that he'll just get it over with. "O-" he smiles again at the sound of the screams of the defensless woman he insists on torturing. "D-" now, he can't tell if she's screaming or sobbing, but, either way, he takes pleasure in the fact that he forced her into both. "D-" her screams finally end, as she lies of the cold floor, crying, and he steps away, watching her as she hesitantly gets to her feet.

He sees the complete and itter fear in her eyes as she looks at him, still trying to be brave and refusing to break any more than she has already as she wipes her tears away. He steps towards her, a murderous glint in his eyes, and she automatically flinches as moves away, fear shooting through her body, mingling the the emotional and physical pain she feels. He laughs mercilessly.

"Come, now, my pet, we're not yet finished."At the thought of anything more, her feet fail her, and she sinks to the ground, her body betraying her, yet still she refuses to accept defeat. As he tries to srag her upright, she struggles against him- she won't do anything he wants her to. He may have- painfully- marked her as his own, but still she would not aide by that. After minutes of fighting her, he kneels behind her and quickly moves the belt around her body, pinning her arms to her sides, and fastens it.

"Mistah Todd!"

"Yes, Mrs Lovett?"

"Let me go!"

"You are in no state to make demands, Mrs Lovett."

"Mistah T! Please!"

"Do be quiet, woman. I am busy."

"Doin' wot?"

"I said, be quiet! If I must tell you, woman, I'm deciding what to do with you next."

"Please, Mistah T! Can't you just... just stop?"

"Mrs Lovett, if you won't be quiet, then I must..."

"Go on then, wot 'must' you do?"

He immediately untied his cravat, quickly tying it round her mouth, preventing her from talking- although, she did try. She made as much noise as possible, till Sweeney dragged her to her feet and throw her against the wall, where she fell, limply, and he put his razor to her throat once again.

"You WILL do as I say, woman, do you understand? You are mine to do what I please with, and I will do what I please with you!" She didn't make a sound. "Understand?" He says, menacingly, pushing the razor into her throat just deep enough to cut slightly, yet not deep enough to die from blood loss. This time, Mrs Lovett nodded quickly, tears forming at her eyes.

"Good." Witch this, he left the room, heading for his shop upstairs, leaving her, still bond, in her bakehouse, amongst the dead bodies of Sweeney's latest victims, exclusing herself. At least she was alive. To die as a statistic is something she just couldn't bear- yet she couldn't help but wonder as to why Sweeney seemed to be keeping her alive. All she could do was wonder this, and how long till he would be back, and whether or not he would keep her alive then, or hurt her still more.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't long before Sweeney was back. Finding Mrs Lovett where he had left her, on the floor, trying not to cry, he smiled. At the sound of the door opening, closing, and being locked, she closed her eyes, hoping against hope that maybe he wouldn't hurt her much this time round. He walked over o her, slowly, dragging out the time, making her wait just hat little bit longer, letting her fearfully wonder what would happen next. She opened her eyes when he drew nearer, and cringed away when he reached out to her. Laughing, he pulled her to her feet, watching with glee as she tried- and failed- to get as far away from him as possible. He placed his fingers on her neck, purely for the thrill of scaring her even that little bit more, before pushing his fingers on the weak spot just under her chin, making her breathing harder and causing equal pain to before. She would have fallen to her knees if he wasn't supporting her, even if that support was hurting her more than helping her. Every time she breathed, yet more pain shot through her aching body. Finally, he removed his fingers and kicked her behind her knee, forcing her to the ground, where he kneed her in the back of her head, hard enough to knock her out. She fell sideways and lay there- still alive, but unconcious.

When Mrs Lovett woke, she was sitting with her back against the wall, facing Sweeney, who was standing in front of her. Her eyes met his, and she was instantly frightened by the saddistic glare in his eyes. He moved towards her, placing his hand on the back of her neck, and dragged her to her feet, and pushed her against the wall, before un-fastening the belt that bound her. It was far more fun if she could try- and fail, of course- to fight back. He knew her well enough to know that she would try. And she would fail. She was weak- physically, anywway. He could easily overpower her. He dragged her by her wrists to the chair she kept in the corner of this cold bakehouse, illuminated only by the over in the opposite side of the room. After throwing her into the chair, he tied her right wrist to one arm of the chair. She immediately attempted to escape, trying to prise his fingers off the rope he was typing, which he had brought downstairs with him previously. In failing to escape, she felt fear creeping up on her, eventually writen across her face. As he finished tying her left wrist to the other arm of the chair, he met her eyes, noting the fear that he could see increasing in her when he met her gaze. He smiled saddistically, gaining pleasure from how terrified of him she now was.

"Don't worry, Mrs Lovett, this won't hurt. Much." Laughing as her terror increased yet more, while she struggled to speak, he decided to, ah, _help her out_, by untying the gag. 'Help her out', indeed. Truthfully, he just wanted to be able to hear her scream. And scream, she would. He used his cravat, now, as a blindfold. She gasped when she suddenly lost sight; started to breathe heavier and quicker, out of fear. He walked around the chair, slowly, circling it till he was back where he started, just to scare her further, from suspense.

"Mistah... Mistah Todd?" Her voice was shaky, and laced with fear. Using her speech as a kind of cue, he sliced into her right arm- deep enough to bleed, yet not too deep. He didn't want her dying too quickly, after all.

Pain shot throughout her body like a bullet. She could feel the blood- _her _blood- trickle down her arm and onto the chair, lightly staining her skin and the chair simaltainiously. He cut again, laighing at the sound of her screams as he carved her arm. Another cut; again; again; again. She was now sobbing, yet still screaming. She screamed illegible words; pleas, trying to get him to stop this seemingly endless torture. All that her screams did was exite him further; encourage him to continue. More blood poured out of her arm, till Sweeney couldn't tell what blood came from which cut. At this point, he finally stopped cutting her, dropped the razor, and left the room.

Mrs Lovett heard the razor hit the ground, and automatically flinched from the sound. She was still sobbing, but her screams had ceased by now. Yet still she couldn't help gasping in fear when she heard the heavy metal door slam, before continuing to cry, now both in relief that Sweeney had left, and in pain from her wounds.

It wasn't long before he returned. Mrs Lovett screamed out of instinct when she heard the door open, and shrunk back against the chair she was still bound to. "What's wrong, Mrs Lovett? After all, you've nothing to fear." At the sound of his voice, she began to cry, yet again. He had broken her completely. And to think, right now he was merely trying to help her. He poured the alchohol he had brought downstairs with him over her wounds. "I know this stings a little, mrs Lovett, but that's because it's alchohol and it's cleaning those nasty cuts of yours." At this, she went into a state of shock. Not that long ago, he was torturing her, now he's treating her kindly, and tensing to her wounds? Why the sudden change of heart? She wasn't going to question it, though. She didn't want to anger him, now. Not when the pain was starting to go away. Her arms, back and head were still incredibly painful, but at least he wasn't continuing to torture her. It seemed almost too good to be true.

That's because it was. The only reason he was cleaning her wounds in the first place was so he could torture her more before she died of blood loss. He untied her left wrist from the chair, in order to wrap the material he was using as a bandage around her arm and securing it, before doing to same to her right arm. She was too shocked to move, at first, but soon enough went to untied the cravat that was still blocking her sight. He soon grabbed her wrists and dragged then away from her head, before re-tying each wrist to the arms of the chair yet again, with as much resistance from her as she was physically able to give. Which, of course, wasn't much. Once she was securely tied to the chair- again- something seemed to snap inside of her. She bowed her head, her face wet with tears but no longer crying, trying to stay strong, yet resigned to her fate. She knew he was the one in charge here, and he could do anything he wanted with her. Trying to get him to stop seemed to make him hurt her more; screaming and crying did nothing but fuel his saddistic happiness. Suddenly, he placed his razor at her neck, but she did not flinch or cry. She just tried to stay calm, even though she was sure he was going to kill her. Maybe it would stop the pain. But then again, she would go to Hell, certainly. Although, ome to think of it, burning eternally seemed preferable to this pain. She knew the razor was still at her neck; not cutting, but she could feel the cool blade pressed against her skin. Odd, though, that he hadn't killed her yet. Likely for suspense, to scare her more. She felt like there was no fear left in her, now. Yet still the razor was at her throat. She was going to die.

He wasn't really going to kill her. He wanted to scare her more- make her think she was going to die. When she didn't react, he pressed the razor further into her throat, yet still didn't cut. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and smiled. The thought came to her mind that perhaps Sweeney wanted to hear her gasp, cry and scream. It would be best, then, to give him what he wants. Perhaps then he'll end this torture. The razor was still at her throat, she could tell. He could end her life at any time. As she realised this, she also realised that she didn't want to die. Her revenge against Sweeney for what he'd done to her could be to live, and to live well. She began to try and escape the ropes that bound her, hoping he wouldn't notice. He did.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, or favourited!

Sweeney removes the razor from Mrs Lovett's throat. He only wished to scare her, anyway. And, evidently he had succeeded. He wasn't going to kill her. Yet. Surprising that it was still possibly for her to experience fear, after all he'd done to her. It seemed that he had broken her yet again. Good. But he couldn't let her die yet.

_[Author's Note: This is only Chapter Four, after all! I still have more ideas. Input would be appreciated... *hint, hint*.]_

Not when she was just _so_ much _fun _to torture. He had to keep her alive for at least a _little _longer. And so he would. He had made her cry and scream with fear and pain, but he wasn't finished with her quite yet. When the time comes... He wouldn't let her die of blood loss. Her death has to be directy from his hand; she has to suffer till her dying breath. And suffer, she would. He would eventually kill her. Not by slitting her throat. The death is too quick, that way. Practicsl, for his customers, but not slow or painful enough for Mrs . He would decide how to kill her when she starts to die. But for now... For now, more pain. Yes. He doubted Mrs Lovett was enjoying this quite as much as he was, but how could he be original with how he tortured her? He wanted to try some way that she wouldn't expect. Then, it hit him. He had torture her physically; why not torture her mentally? He had heard about this kind of torture before. Read about it in newspapers. Come to think of it, her had already mentally tortured her- by pretending to kill her. Mock death. He was currently mentally torturing her, in a way. She was still blindfolded, scared out of her mind; she had no idea what would happen to her next- the suspense was surely torture in itself. This fits in nicely. But still, he needed to _do _something to torture her more. What to do, what to do... Suddenly, and idea hit him like a sack of bricks. There was some form of torture involving water... Yes, a small amount of water at a time was poured onto a victim's head. Not only would she be physically uncomfortable, but the victim would be drien out of her mind with fear. The fact that Mrs Lovett was still bound and blindfolded would not do anything to ease her nerves. All he needed was the water- and, of course, a way to pour the water slowly...He left the room, in search of such items, which, of course, calmed down Mrs Lovett, who was really rather relieved that he had gone, yet dreading his return.

As always, Sweeney was back before long. She couldn't help flinching at the sound of the door opening, however hard she tried not to. He had brought with him a large, old, and finished gin bottle, cleaned out and filled with water. He also had a bucket full of water; ready to re-fill the bottle, should the need arise. Which, of course, it would.

"Mistah Todd? Is... is that you?"

"Why, yes, mrs Lovett, it is. However did you guess?" He mocked her. Before she could reply, he quickly unstopped the bottle and poured a little over her head, pleased that she screamed immediately. He poured a little more, slowly, gaining a little pleasure as she gasped. He fell into a pattern of dropping water over her head slowly, a little each time, knowing that this is what she would come to expect. He poured far more, quickly, and heard her scream out of surprise. Eventually, she found her voice.

"Mistah Todd! Wot';re you doin'?" She recieved no reply. "Mistah T!" She began to sob, yet attempting to stop crying. She could tell her liked to see her cry; knew that it was in her best interests to please him, even though she was humiliated by it. But, even if she had wanted to, she just couldn't stop gasoed between sobs whenever she felt the freezing water hit her hed, trickle over her face, neck, and eventually over the rest of her body. This was as much physical torture as mental; the water was _so_ cold, and it was so frightening to wait for more water to pour. This carried on for what seemed like hours; till there was no more water left in the bottle. Mrs Lovett, now drenched in water, began to calm down, as there was evidently no water left. Sweeney, of course, refilled the bottle, and, eventually, began pouring more water. She screamed when she felt yet more water dripping over her head; she had not been expecting this specific torture to continue. And continue, it did. Till the large, then-full bucket of water was empty and Mrs Lovett was drenched in water, sobbing uncontrollably. All Sweeney could so was laugh. He stood there, laughing as uncontrollably as she was crying; laughing at her pain; her screams; he tears; her blood, and her defenslessness. Laughing at this odd situation. He was torturing _Mrs Lovett_, his partner is crime; the stubborn, talkative, clever, sly, strong woman that came up with the genius ideas. What an odd situation he'd turned this into. It felt good to be in charge. She was normally the one giving the orders, he was the one following them. Now it was his turn to take charge. An odd situation indeed, Sweeney thought, as he circled the chair, watching the woman in front of him flinch at each footstep; at any sidden noice; watching the tears continue to fall down her face.

Eventualy, she stopped crying. She was still drenched in water; her back, arms and wrists were stinging; she had a blinding headache; she was freezing, but she was still trying to be strong, no longer crying. He admired her for it, however much it annoyed him that he couldn't break her spirit as much as he could break her body and mind. Perhaps a little more physical torture was needed... Yes, that's what he would do. Teach her a lesson. She deserved a beating or two for... Well, she had done nothing wrong, yet still he needed an excuse, so, for... fighting back. She was a woman, and he a man, and therefore she should let him torture her- or, indeed, do anything he pleased with her. She would fight back again, giving another excuse to hurt her yet again. A simple beating, for now. He untied each of her wrists from the chair, quickly turned her around and retied her wrists together behind her back, this time, also tying her elbows painfully together. She was still blindfolded, of course, and so had no idea what was happening. He pushed her in the general direction of the wall unexpectantly. Mrs Lovett stumbled and fell to her knees by the wall. Sweeney decided to use her fall as an excuse for 'punishment'. He kicked her in the stomach, gloating as she cried out in pain. He grabbed her hair and dragged her head sharply against the wall, several times, laughing as she tried to fight against him and the ropes that bound her, and failing on both accounts. He knelt next to her and back-handed her, hard, smiling at the smal whimper she gave, He dragged her to her feet by her hair, only to throw her against the wall again, where she fell to the ground. He laughed as she screamed, obviously trying desperately not to cry- and for once, succeeding. Frustrated that she wasn't crying, he took her by the shoulder and dragged her to her feet, before deciding that it would be more amusing if she could fight back. He removed the blindfold and pocketed it; he may wish to use it later, after all. He then proceeded to untie the rope that forced her wrists together, along with her elbows, before stepping away from her. Almost crying with relief, she turned around and met his gaze, bravely.

"Why?" She asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Many a reason, Mrs Lovett. Mainly leading back to how amusing I find your pain. However, I also wanted to teach you a lesson, and you were an easy target. This isn't over quite yet, though. I am not going to let you go." Mrs Lovett began walking backwards from him, as he stalked towards her. "I will kill you, eventually. Slowly and painfully." At this, she turned, and attempted to run towards the door, till he caught her by the throat and thre her to the ground. "The only question is, when?" She curled up against the wall, buried her face in her arms, and cried aaa he still stalked towards her more.

Well, that's four chapters of pretty much nothing but torture. Any comments? And should I have a plot line? Thanks for reading!


End file.
